


War

by nanuk_dain



Series: Impossible Relationships [20]
Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Violence, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-28
Updated: 2012-02-28
Packaged: 2017-10-31 21:11:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/348407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanuk_dain/pseuds/nanuk_dain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Iraq without Ray just isn't the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	War

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/nanuk_dain/pic/000be3gq)

It was the same as last time. The heat, the sand, the lack of sleep, too many MREs for anybody's taste. The smell of rotting flesh, of sweat and blood. The eyes of children that had seen things they never should have known, of women who'd suffered more than they could bear, of men who'd seen too much death to care anymore. Yet it was so very different from last time. They didn't spend all their time in those goddamn Humvees that everybody from First Recon had begun to associate with Iraq. There were more new faces, there was less laughter, less connection between the men. Those with experience stuck together, those who'd been deployed together before, who'd been there in 2003. 

But what hit Tim most was that there wasn't Ray's voice that carried over the noises of the camp, ranting about God and the world. Never once during OIF had Tim realised how much Ray's presence had influenced the platoon, how he'd somehow managed to keep spirits up with his big mouth and his well placed remarks. Now Tim felt his absence strongly, not only because he personally missed him, but also because the atmosphere in the camp was just _different_. Tim couldn't help noticing all those things, and he was sure he wasn't the only one. Brad must have felt it even more, he'd been deployed with Ray before Tim had even got to First Recon. Once Tim even caught himself thinking that Reporter was missing, that it was strange that there wasn't a rookie who Tim had to take care of so he didn't get himself shot by sheer naïvety. At least there was still Rudy's coffee, and more than once it was the highlight of Tim's day. 

For the first two months, they were stationed in a camp just south of Baghdad, going on patrols in various neighbourhoods of the city. Tim spent most of his time working on sick and injured civilians in makeshift medical tents. No matter how much he wanted _not_ to see their faces, their _eyes_ , he didn't turn away, didn't try to forget. He looked at all of them, at every single face, smiled at the children that looked at him with empty eyes, gave a friendly word where he could. It was about more than healing physical injuries, but Tim knew he was fighting a lost battle. This war had left wounds that were too deep for him to heal. _Nobody_ could. Maybe time would change things, but that wasn't something he had any influence on. He still forced himself to give his best for every person who came to him for help. It was his job, after all.

The third month saw them move to Fallujah, a city about 70 kilometres west of Baghdad. Tim hated being back in the Humvees, although they still felt familiar in a way that was almost comforting. There were no more civilians for him to treat once they were on the move. Fighting began soon enough and he had to take care of his own. Between fighting and treating his men, there wasn't much time left to think. 

Tim didn't see faces when he pulled the trigger. Not like he had in the medical tent. He didn't care.

The fourth month had them move back to Baghdad. Fallujah was still held by the rebels who'd defended the city with astonishing success and Tim couldn't help thinking that all the pain of his men, all the deaths of those fighting in the attack, had been for nothing. He was just glad that none of his Marines had been killed. He hated signing death notes and he couldn't help being relieved that he hadn't had to do it since this mission started. 

Yet.

It was on a patrol in a suburb of Baghdad that one of the new guys, Larson if Tim remembered his name correctly, fired a round at somebody he claimed had been aiming a RPG at his vehicle. They stopped the Humvees and got into position, approaching the house where they suspected more men to hide. Tim was right between Rudy and Brad, his M4 at the ready, gaze sweeping the area while keeping an eye on the dark shadow that Larson had shot and that lay halfway behind the corner of the house. Just in case the man wasn't dead. It was then that he noticed that the feet were way too small to belong to a grown man. With a deep frown and a feeling of dread curling deep in his stomach, he approached the shadow.

The little feet were attached to an equally small body that seemed skinny even under the wide dark green gown. There was long brown hair fanned out on the dusty ground, moving slightly around the otherwise still body in the light breeze. Where once had been an eye was a pool of blood around a reddish hole where Larson's bullet had struck. 

Tim clenched his teeth, trying to rein in the fury that washed over him. The girl was - _had been_ \- maybe seven or eight years old, and next to her shoulder lay a longish bundle of black cloth, rolled up and bound together by several ties. Tim had walked over to Larson and had grabbed him by the shoulder before he'd even thought about it. He dragged the stunned Marine over to the girl and roughly shoved him to his knees right next to the body. 

“That your RPG, Larson?” Tim snarled and into the man's ear. His voice was quiet, the suppressed anger so strong that even Tim could hear it. Larson just stared at the girl and didn't move, maybe in shock, maybe because he didn't dare with Tim grabbing his neck hard enough to bruise. For a moment Tim was tempted to hurt him, to take revenge for the death of a little girl who still had had all her live before her. The urge was almost overwhelming and Tim felt his body quiver with the strength it took him to hold back.

Suddenly there were strong hands on Tim's shoulders, pulling him back with gentle force. 

“Calm, brother.” Tim heard Rudy's voice behind him, soothing but nevertheless firm. “Let go of him, Tim.”

Tim focussed on the calm sound of Rudy's voice in order to fight back the urge to just snap Larson's neck. He took a deep breath and loosened his grip, stepping back from where the Marine was still kneeling in the dirt next to the body of the child he'd shot. Tim looked at the girl and suddenly just _knew_ he couldn't do this anymore. He didn't want to screw up people's lives, didn't want to clean up after the mess his own men left behind. It was the shepherd boys all over again, just that it hadn't been Trombley but some other trigger-happy kid who wanted to tell back home that he'd shot somebody. A kid who didn't get that this wasn't a game, that this were _people_ with families and not faceless, nameless targets in a video game. 

Tim took another deep breath, his vision clearing again, and with a jerk of his shoulder he shook off Rudy's hands and walked back to his Humvee. He had to get out of this as long as there was still _something_ of him left, before all his spirit was lost in the senseless stupidity of the men, the war, the destruction and the constant death. He would leave the service when he came back. Although the decision had just come up a few seconds ago, Tim knew it was final. 

It was that evening that Tim dug out the bag of M&Ms he'd discovered hidden inside a pair of socks in his first week in Iraq. He knew Ray must have sneaked it in his duffel before he'd left, a message nobody would understand but that was crystal clear to Tim. It had made him laugh - actually _laugh_ \- with barely suppressed surprise, and for a moment he'd felt as if the wave of affection that had been washing over him overwhelmed him. It had been a little thing to do, hide those sweets in his duffel, yet it meant so much, told Tim more than any words could have. He'd been careful to keep the M &Ms out of sight of the other men and hadn't opened the pack, saving it for a time when he would need it.

Now that time had come. 

Tim took the cup of coffee that Rudy had brought him just a few minutes ago when he'd come to where Tim was sitting as far away from the men as he could without actually leaving the camp. Rudy hadn't said a word, he'd just given Tim a concerned look before he'd handed over the rather huge mug filled to the brim with steaming hot coffee. Then he'd retreated with a little smile that was supposed to be encouraging. 

Tim looked at the dark liquid for a moment before he dropped some of the candy into it. The first sip sent his mind back to early mornings and Ray kissing him awake, the taste of his favoured candy-coffee strong and irresistible on his tongue that was caressing Tim's in a slow, teasing dance. Tim closed his eyes when he took another sip of his Ray-coffee, letting memories wash over him, warm and bright and intense, bringing with them new energy, new strength, new hope. He concentrated on the image of Ray's smile, the warm, teasing sound of his voice when he woke Tim too early for his liking. The next sip made him think of Ray's strong grip on his shoulders, the skilled fingers working over his neck, his arms, his back in a gentle but firm massage, leaving him in a state of boneless relaxation. 

Tim smiled, his eyes still closed, and with every sip he took he allowed his mind to wander to places he had avoided for the past four months. He had tried not to think of what he couldn't have while on deployment. He knew it would only make the craving worse, but right now, he needed the memories, needed the energy they gave him. He took his time and drank the coffee slowly, savouring every sip. When he was nearly done, he heard almost silent footsteps approach him, long steps that could only belong to Brad, and Tim waited until he stopped next to where Tim was sitting on the berm. For a moment there was silence again, undisturbed by any sound, then Brad crouched down in the sand next to Tim, his M4 cradled in his arms. He didn't say anything, didn't look at Tim either, just stared off in the distance as if he was watching something.

“Rudy took good care of you, Doc?” Brad asked quietly without turning around. He didn't ask if Tim was all right because they both had learned long ago that it was a question you never asked on deployment. 

“Yeah, he has.” Tim took the last sip of his coffee and let the candy-taste play over his tongue. Rudy didn't even know how much good he'd done Tim with just that one cup of coffee. 

They remained next to each other in companionable silence, staring off in the darkness and lost in their own thoughts. A long time passed before Brad said quietly, “It's different, isn't it?” 

“Very.” Tim didn't pretend that he didn't understand what Brad was referring to. They'd never talked about _it_ apart from that one time after Brad had seen them, not only because it was too dangerous for Tim, but also because neither of them was particularly good at this kind of stuff. Talking. Feelings. It wasn't their strong suit, so without actually saying a word, they'd mutually agreed on _not talking_. 

“How's he holding up?” Brad turned, his face barely visible in the dark.

Tim shrugged, not bothering to hide his frown. “He pretends to be fine.”

“Yeah.” Brad smirked. It was small, but it was there. “He's good at that.”

“I know.” Tim didn't say more, didn't feel like he could put in words what went through his mind.

“You're going to quit, aren't you?” It wasn't really a question, as if Brad just _knew_.

Tim was quiet for a long time and stared in his empty cup with a frown. “Yeah.”

“The little girl?” Brad stared off in the distance again, as if he saw the small body in front of his mind's eye just as clearly as Tim did.

“No.” Tim shook his head slowly. “It was only the last straw.”

Brad nodded but didn't say a word. They fell silent again, only the occasional sound of faraway gunfire disturbed the quiet. When Brad turned to look at Tim, his gaze was open. “He'll be there when you come back, won't he?”

Tim nodded slowly. He hadn't known it, hadn't been aware this that was exactly what he'd needed. Reassurance, a friendly word to remind him that he wasn't coming back to an empty apartment, that Ray was going to be there. _'I'll be waiting.'_ He could hear Ray's voice, low and rough and sincere, breathing those words against Tim's skin. He could feel the lingering press of Ray's lips on his neck, his arm tight around Tim's waist.

“Yeah, he'll be home.”


End file.
